Casey's Gamble

by Eve Gaddy

  The problem wasn’t that she had too much work to do, or too little time to do it. No, the humiliating fact of the matter was that she couldn’t concentrate because she kept thinking about Nick Devlin. What she couldn’t figure out was, why?

  She closed her eyes to consider that. He was good-looking, she’d give him that. Okay, more than just good-looking, he was as hot as they come. But so what? She knew other men who were equally hot. Didn’t she?

  Irked at herself, she continued her catalog. He’d come along at a weak moment. At a time when she was seriously wondering if she’d ever find a man she wanted to go out with, never mind get serious about. And he was interesting. Intriguing. She wanted to know what was going on behind those amazing blue eyes of his, though she could hazard a guess about some of it. She wanted to know what he’d done, where he’d been. Obviously, he hadn’t spent almost his entire life on a sugarcane plantation in Louisiana.

  And whose fault is that? she asked herself. Though she’d had opportunities to travel, she’d turned most of them down. She’d always been too obsessed with the cane. So now, here she was, thirty-one years old, single and…feeling antsy. It was natural. She hadn’t been close to a man since— Casey had to pause and think about that. It dawned on her with a sick feeling that she hadn’t let a man near her—other than Murray, who was a friend and therefore didn’t count—since her damn ex-fiancé had dumped her for another woman three years before.

  “Looks like an uncomfortable place to take a nap,” a deep, masculine voice said.

  Casey’s eyes flew open, the chair legs landed on the floor with a thump and she stifled a shriek. Nick leaned negligently against the jamb. He filled the doorway, looking heart-stoppingly good in a short-sleeved white T-shirt with a faded logo that read Margaritaville, a pair of khaki shorts and Top-Siders.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded, her pulse racing. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, he walked in. For a moment, he stood looking around. Casey refused to squirm, even though it more closely resembled the site of a tornado than an office. Papers spilled off her desk. Several days’ worth of empty coffee cups sat on the desk and the floor. Files lay haphazardly on chairs. Filing wasn’t her forte, either.

  In one corner there was a large bag of fertilizer, papers stacked on top of it, waiting for Casey to decide whether to place a full order. Plaques from the LSU school of agriculture and the Sugar Coalition hung on the walls, several of them crooked. Tacked on the wall closest to the desk was an ancient poster from the New Orleans Jazzfest. Casey looked at it whenever she wanted to imagine getting away.

  “Do come in,” she said sarcastically.

  “Thanks.” He came all the way inside, leaned a hip against a corner of her desk and smiled at her. “Pretty late to be working, isn’t it? I saw the light and figured it was you.”

  “I have to do my paperwork at night.” Casey made a frustrated motion at the computer, now blinking silently at her. “I hate computers.”

  “Really? I like them.” She threw him a look of disgust and he continued. “Why don’t you hire someone to take over those duties?” He glanced around the office and added, “And to file for you.”

  “Partly because it’s an unnecessary cost, and partly because I’d have to train whoever we hired and I don’t have the time.” She thought about it a minute and added, “Besides, then I’d always have someone underfoot and asking me questions, which would drive me crazy.”

  “Are you saying you’re antisocial?”

  “Of course not. I like people fine.” Most of the time. In small doses.

  “Good. Then, why don’t you come to the grand opening of the White Gold? As my date.” She started to speak but he continued before she could. “Before you turn me down, I should tell you your friend Viv Renault said to tell you she was going to kick your butt if you didn’t come.” His lips curved into a smile. “Her husband’s headlining the entertainment.”

  Casey sat up at that, so pleased for her friends that she forgave him the ploy. “You hired Luc’s band?” Viv and Luc had only recently gotten married, and Casey knew from Viv that her parents still hadn’t totally accepted a son-in-law who happened to be a jazz musician and had to work for a living. This would infuriate them to no end. A huge smile spread across her face. “Oh, this is great!”

  He looked surprised. Then he leaned forward and twirled a stray piece of her hair around his finger, holding her gaze. “So was the band,” he said musingly. “So, you’ll come?”

  She was torn. But at least if she accepted now, she could blame it partially on Viv. It had nothing to do with the shiver that ran up her spine as he pulled another strand of hair loose from her ponytail and toyed with it. “All right. Knowing Viv, she will kick my butt. And it’s just one date,” she hastened to add, pulling away from him and brushing her hair back. “No big deal.”

  “Absolutely not,” he agreed solemnly, but she saw his lips quiver.

  He had a beautiful mouth. Masculine, but beautiful. Casey wondered what those lips would feel like on hers. Would he kiss soft, slow and lazy? Or would it be fast, hard and reckless? What would happen if she surprised him? If she leaned across the desk and pressed her lips to his? Their gazes locked. She had the feeling he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Hastily, she cleared her throat and averted her eyes.

  “I had another reason for stopping by,” he said.

  Glad for the change of subject, she looked at him.

  “I came to take you up on that offer.”

  “What offer?”

  “You said when you had time, you’d tell me about farming.”

  “Farming? You want a lesson in farming? Now?” She really wished his voice didn’t make her think of late nights and sin. Even asking a simple question about farming, he managed to put those images in her mind.

  He shook his head. “Not a lesson. I want to know why you do it. And why you love it.”

  Taken aback, she thought about that. No one had ever asked her such a thing. She’d never met anyone who actually cared about her reasons for farming. The rest of her family were simply happy she liked it. Well, all of them except Aunt Esme. “I don’t understand why you’re interested.”

  “I told you.” He tugged another strand of hair. “I like knowing about things.”

  “Stop playing with my hair,” she said. She’d meant it to come out as a command, but her voice was entirely too husky, and the words sounded more like a plea.

  “Does it bother you?” he asked, but he released her hair.

  “Yes. I get the feeling that’s not all you’d like to be playing with,” she said rashly.

  His mouth curved upward but he didn’t say anything. He picked up a paperweight—a rock she’d hurled at Jordan’s head when he’d come to tell her he wasn’t marrying her—and looked at it. “I don’t know many farmers. As a rule, they don’t spend much time in casinos.”

  “So the only people you know are gamblers?”

  “Dodging the question?” he asked. “No, those aren’t the only people I know. Still, if you look at life like I do, lots of people are gamblers who you might not classify that way. I mean, look at you. You gamble on whether your crop’s coming in on time or some disaster will stop it. You gamble on what the yield will be. Whether there’ll be a drought or too much rain. All sorts of things.”

  “Nothing’s a sure thing, is that it?” she asked.

  He smiled. “What’s the saying? Death and taxes are the only certain things in life.”

  She stood, and so did he. “Come on. I’m not sure I can explain my feelings very well with words. So I’m going to give you some hands-on experience in the life of a farmer.”

  He looked a little wary. Casey laughed and strode to the door. “Aren’t you the one who’s always looking for new experiences?”

  “Depends on the experience,” he said as he followed her out the door. How bad could i
t be? he asked himself, before another thought occurred to him. “I don’t have to shovel sh—fertilizer or anything, do I?”

  Casey cast a mischievous look over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.

  Casey hopped in the ancient red pickup parked outside the greenhouse, barely waiting for him to get in before she took off down a dirt road that headed toward the cane fields. He knew that much from scouting out the plantation in the daylight. There was a partial moon, throwing off enough light that the night wasn’t totally black—a good thing since the headlights had seen better days.

  “This is my new hybrid field,” Casey said, halting at a field that looked just like the others. She got out of the truck, motioning him to follow. “I told you about it the other night. LSU approved us to test a new cane.”

  The cane was tall, eight to ten feet, and the night was silent but for the leaves rustling in the breeze and the engine coughing in the background. An earthy scent permeated the air. “Is that a big deal? A new hybrid?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s quite an honor to be chosen.” She glanced at the field again, then walked back to the truck. “But what I really want to show you is up ahead. To most people, a cane field is a cane field, so you’d be unlikely to notice the differences between them. I don’t expect you to find this hybrid field fascinating, but I do.”

  She drove down the road, seeming not to mind the roughness that rattled his teeth, until they came to an unplanted field. This time she turned off the engine when they got out.

  “Take off your shoes and socks,” Casey said, and began taking her own off. “Come on.”

  Mystified, he did as she said. She took him by the hand and led him into the field. “This was plowed today. Luckily for us, it hasn’t been fertilized yet.” Once they reached the middle of the field, she stopped and dropped his hand. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Just do it. Close your eyes and wiggle your toes in the soil. Nothing else feels like fresh-plowed earth. Nothing else smells like it.”

  “I’m a lot more used to concrete beneath my feet than dirt.” But it did feel good. Soft, sensual. A different experience, that’s for sure.

  “City boy, are you?” Her voice was soft and dreamy.

  Nick opened his eyes and looked at her. “You could say that.” He’d spent most of his childhood in Dallas, Texas. Since then, he’d been many places, but his business and interests took him to cities most of the time.

  “I used to come out here when I was a little girl. Duke always told my mother if she couldn’t find me, to check the fields.” She opened her eyes. “I’ve wanted to farm since I was a child. It never occurred to me that my parents expected Jackson to take over that aspect of the plantation. Or that they thought I’d follow in my mother’s footsteps. Instead, I dogged Duke’s.”

  She sat down, crossing her legs tailor-fashion. Patting the dirt beside her, she said, “Here, have a seat. Or are you afraid of a little dirt?”

  “I’ve gotten my hands dirty plenty of times,” he told her as he sat.

  “Really?” She looked him up and down. “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “I could say the same about you. You’re no typical Southern belle, are you, Casey?”

  She smiled ruefully. “No, guess not. That’s one reason Aunt Esme gets so put-out with me.” Sighing, she rolled her head on her shoulders.

  “My mother and Aunt Esme tried their best to get me to be like the other girls, but I wasn’t happy unless I was following Duke around. The men would talk sugar morning, noon and night. I loved it. Duke didn’t especially like farming, but he’s always had his hand in every aspect of the plantation. He was always more interested in the wheeling and dealing. Jackson seems to have inherited his talent for that.”

  “What did you inherit? Since he didn’t like farming?” He tried to imagine being close to his parents, but since they’d dumped him when he was seven, that was impossible. Casey might as well have grown up on a whole other planet than the one he knew.

  “His love of Bellefontaine, and the sugar business, I guess. I’m not like either of my parents. Not really. And especially not like my mother. Angelique is the epitome of a gracious Southern lady. Somehow I missed out on those qualities. I was a teenager before I realized most girls didn’t spend all their free time eating, sleeping and breathing farming. I found out in a pretty brutal way that boys didn’t appreciate a girl with no small talk except about sugar.” She looked down at her chest. “Not to mention, girls with no figure.”

  He looked her over, half smiling. “I’d say you filled out just fine.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But back then, I was gawky, awkward and had fallen desperately in love with the class president. He had a rep for dating only cheerleaders. Which I wasn’t. He nicknamed me Farmer and let everyone know that he wouldn’t date me if my father paid him.” A grin spread over her face. “Jackson was a couple of years behind me, but he heard about it. He and some of his friends made sure the prez didn’t repeat that. Or much of anything else for a few days.”

  “Good for Jackson. So, did this guy break your heart?”

  “No, only bruised it. He left the heartbreaking for my ex-fiancé, who didn’t quite leave me at the altar.” She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. “Seems he found another woman who suited him better, and didn’t want to tie himself up with me.”

  “Suited him better?”

  She glanced at him wryly. “More money, higher social standing.”

  “What a jerk.”

  “In spades,” she agreed, and laughed.

  What kind of a fool would jilt a woman like Casey? “I know what it’s like not to fit in,” he said after a pause, feeling an odd kinship with her.

  “Do you?” She tilted her head to look at him. “Why didn’t you fit in, Nick?”

  “I grew up in an orphanage. From the time I was seven. Trust me, orphans fit in less than farmers.”

  “I’m sorry. It must have been hard losing your parents so young.”

  “I didn’t lose them,” he said, already regretting ever speaking up. But he’d started it, so he might as well finish. “They dumped me.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice gentle and sincere.

  He shrugged it off, but he kept hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “It was a long time ago. I got over it.”

  “Meaning, you don’t want to talk about your childhood.”

  “What’s to talk about? It was lonely, not very pleasant, and I survived. Besides, most women aren’t interested in my childhood.”

  “Why not? Hasn’t anyone else ever asked you about your childhood?”

  “You’re the first.” He smiled cynically. “The women I’ve known have been a lot more interested in the here and now. They don’t care to hear about the struggle, they just like the results.”

  “What results?”

  She scooted a little closer to him, looking at him as if she really wanted to know. Really wanted to know him. But that was an illusion. Nick had been proved right about too many women to trust one easily.

  He turned his head to meet her gaze. “Money, sweetheart. That’s what the women I know like.”

  “So, what, you’re loaded?”

  He grinned at her question. She didn’t look particularly impressed. “I figured Jackson had told you.”

  “No.” She dimpled. “We didn’t talk about your money.” She pressed a finger to her temple, as if thinking. “Let’s see, how did he put it? Jackson said you had a reputation with women, and he was sure you deserved it.”

  “Who needs enemies when you have friends like that?”

  “Hey, he’s my brother. Annoying as he can be, he was just looking out for me.”

  “Can’t blame him for that.” He was honest enough with himself to admit that, and to r
ealize he envied his friend the bond he had with his sister. Not that Nick was interested in Casey looking at him like a brother.

  “Is it true?”

  “More or less. I’m not innocent where women are concerned.”

  She snorted. “Now, that’s something I’d never have guessed.”

  He grinned, then sobered. “But I don’t lie. If I have a relationship with a woman, we both know the rules going in.”

  “Tell me, Nick, what are these rules?”

  He leaned closer, until his mouth hovered near hers. “Why are you asking, Casey?”

  “Curiosity?” she said, a little breathless. Her tongue slipped over her lips, moistening them.

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” he said, and fitted his mouth over hers. Her lips parted, inviting him in, then her tongue touched his, a quick foray. He slid inside, but gently, not wanting to rush her, enjoying this first taste of her.

  Pulling back was harder than he’d imagined. But he did, and waited for her to make the next move.

  “More,” she whispered, and kissed him.

  Her arms came around his neck, her breasts settled against his chest, her mouth felt warm and sexy on his. Her tongue played with his, sliding against his in a way that made him want to do a lot more than just kiss her. He slipped his arms around her waist, ran a hand slowly up her back, to cup her nape beneath her ponytail.

  She slanted her mouth over his as the kiss grew more urgent. Casey gave a breathy moan and nestled closer. He clasped her tight as they slid to the ground. He retained enough sense to make sure she was on top, but after that, all the sense he’d always assumed he had deserted him. His hands slipped over her rear, pressing her gently against him. She felt good, so damn good he didn’t want it to end— but what sanity remained told him she’d wake up to reality soon.

  She drew back and stared down at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “That got out of hand. I didn’t mean— I just intended to kiss you. Not crawl all over you.”

  “Believe it or not, Casey, that’s all I intended, too.”

  She rolled off him and lay on her back in the dirt. He rolled to his side and looked at her. She started laughing.